


in the arms of astraeus

by sunflower_8



Series: kaimaki week 2020!! [3]
Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Kinda, Metaphors, Sad, Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:02:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24047881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflower_8/pseuds/sunflower_8
Summary: though, damn fate. damn the stars, damn the moon, damn the darkness-- because nothing, no matter how beautiful, will save kaito’s life.and, for that, she forgives nothing.(or, maki harukawa thinks about herself and her lover, a star-crossed love written to fall)
Relationships: Harukawa Maki/Momota Kaito
Series: kaimaki week 2020!! [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1730125
Comments: 3
Kudos: 17





	in the arms of astraeus

maki doesn’t know how to begin her essay to love, a shrouded thesis hidden by scathing refutes and lackluster counterarguments, all to testify that she should have never fallen for someone because she was never meant to. there was a distinct flaw in her soul that swore her to shield the burden that  _ she could never love,  _ and yet,

she falls in love with kaito momota, who dealt with the devil to live on borrowed time, to become more familiar with the contours of a hospital bed than the feeling of another human’s body. she falls in love with a man who carries the stars in his footsteps, fading to a quieter hum in the background as she paces, praying for the first time in the eons she feels as though she has lived that the man she loves will survive another winter.

he doesn’t care for the winter and neither does she-- she prefers the warmth of his body against hers, a hand holding hers saying  _ you are beautiful and i am alive and we are forever, darling.  _ in his grasp, she forgets that fate foretold his death, that she is naive, that her letter to love will never be complete.

what he does care about, she learns nearly immediately, is the stars. there’s a subtle kind of energy those who adore astronomy and its complexities carry, and it’s one she has learned to read well. she finds those people the most interesting, and that may be judgemental of her, but her mother at the orphanage taught her to love people who will treat her like stars.

looking in his eyes, maki can see that he loves the cosmos, that his wonder for the world extends beyond his body, his death. but maki can’t promise to love anything for him, on his behalf, because when he is gone, the sky will be torn apart with her screams.

she wonders, selfishly, if he would scream at her death. her mother at the orphanage taught her to love people who will treat her like stars, and kaito treats her with a kind of worship that only belongs to dying preachers. do preachers scream when they condemn their god?

is it really merciful to compare love to religion?

kaito would never condemn her, truly. the only one condemning her is god, and then everything completes in a nice circle.

a circle that ends with the loss of him.

she still remembers the days when she didn’t know. and god, she wants them back.

but for now, she is here.

she holds his hand as the doctors with calculated eyes share the news. her gasp is infinitesimal in terms of everything, but the way kaito cries is not. and she thinks the world, black holes and dark matter, exploded, because the debris must have knocked kaito onto this path. she cannot imagine it being fate. 

though, damn fate. damn the stars, damn the moon, damn the darkness-- because nothing, no matter how beautiful, will save kaito’s life.

and, for that, she forgives nothing.

“maki roll.” the way he says her name is akin to the way anthropologists discuss fossils with eyes alight, or the way a drunken thief describes procuring a sparkling jewel. he speaks of her as if she meant the world to him, but she really doesn’t view herself as such a spectacle. who is she to deny a dying man, though? 

she releases herself from the prison of her thoughts and looks at him. he is weak and pale, his lips chapped and colorless with his eyes shadowed by exhaustion. she knows what a dying man looks like-- in her life, she has seen many-- but she will never recover from seeing him. underneath it all, he is still beautiful. she sighs and says, “yes?”

“come lay beside me.”

her body moves without thought, gently removing the barrier of wires and ivs to settle beside him. he wraps an arm around her and she cuddles to him. the cot is small and only designed for one person, but both of them are light and pressed so close together they may as well be one.

his fingers-- skeletal-- curl into her hair. he once said her hair resembles dark cherries, a shade of brown that is too rosy to be a chocolate color, so he likens it to pink instead. she doesn’t see that herself-- she sees hair overgrown that is difficult to maintain-- but he says the hue is unique to her and so she resists the urge to shave it off.

(although, she has plans to donate her hair and shave it off. she’ll only act after kaito is gone, though, because he’s allowed to have superficial final wishes.)

he removes his hand from her hair, moving it down to cup her face. she looks up at him and watches him whisper, “i love you.”

there’s no hesitation, never has been. she doesn’t think she will ever find another like him, but she dislikes that thought, banishes it to the parts of her mind consumed with such darkness that surviving a single day seems impossible. without him, she believes showers will become centuries and breakfast will feel as though she is serving hades at a table in olympus, a deck of cards up her sleeve.

she banishes that too. “i love you too.” she curls closer, hands resting against his chest, inching near his heartbeat that isn’t fading yet, remaining there even as kaito’s smile turns bittersweet. she holds him as if she is holding debris from a wreckage, watching a lifeboat float away, and she is certain he dislikes that of her, but he can’t beg her to change. she has nothing and he has everything, and that’s the most concise description of survivor’s guilt that the bereavement groups never discuss.

he leans down to kiss her head, his lips feeling like decay but also like familiarity, and his touch reminds her of the angels and valkyries she used to adore before she sinned, before she was taken out of that damned orphanage (where her mother taught her to love people who will treat her like stars) and trained to kill. the only perfection she ever knew was found in tales and assassination,

but she thinks that a world with kaito alive is the closest thing to perfection.

he speaks to her again, calling her name in a murmur of gentle affection, “maki roll.”

“yes?”

“do you think history will remember me?”

it isn’t the first existential question he’s posed. this kind of desperation doesn’t suit him, though-- it’s not entirely in character, it’s not a trait she’s learned to love. but she answers him anyway because she would be wondering the same.

“i think so.” it’s hesitant, soft, and she regrets the way it sounds. he smiles anyway.

“that’s what i thought. there will only ever be one kaito momota, luminary of the stars!”

she smiles back, and suddenly, her eyes are tearful. “damn right.”

his gaze softens into something more concerned. he studies her for a moment as she fights to breathe, fights back tears, before he says, “you can cry, love. you don’t have to be afraid.”

she does, because she could never stop herself from that. he wipes them away carefully, a subtle devotion to keeping her eyes from burning, but they already do, because she’s kept behind a flood and left a drought and either way, they will suffer to the elements. she has faltered while he stays strong (a cruel reversal to the way everything should be), and he kisses her head. “i’m sorry i made you cry, maki roll.”

she remembers when she saw him cough for the first time, blood trickling down his chin, his chest heaving with the fury of a man that was more alive than the shadows that chased her as she ran to get him into the car only a few hours ago. she knows the sight and scent of his blood better than she knows the feeling of her own even as it pulses in her head because why is he apologizing when he-

“don’t apologize.” she doesn’t stutter, but her voice is worn and broken. “please don’t apologize.”

“alright.” he pulls her closer, and he brushes his lips against hers. she sighs into his mouth, breathing in the languid kiss, tears still falling but her struggle diluted by the warmth of  _ him.  _ his hand trails against her back, the space just under the end of her shirt, and he presses against her skin rather than her clothes. it’s a kind of intimacy that is not sexual, not now, and it’s  _ comforting  _ to feel him touch her, knowing that he is real as well.

she cups his face and, even when the kiss slows, she leaves them there. she traces the fine hairs that still remain on his face, pretending that it wouldn’t all disappear from the chemotherapy. she feels the structure she is already knowing of, allowing herself to indulge in the strong jawline he has always had, the cheeks that are not completely sullen.

they both part to breathe. maki moves to kiss him again, but he gently stops her. “i’m tired.” he says, and they are the words that maki rues because she knows, someday, that that’s how he’ll die.

but she tries to pretend like she can’t read his fate in the stars without a telescope to guide her, tries to pretend like sleeping is as innocent as it always used to be, plagued with nightmares but still beneficial. she forces a smile. “goodnight,” she whispers, kissing his cheek and trying to leave the bed, but he keeps her there.

“stay with me.”

and she does, because some days (most days), the only way she can sleep is when she’s lying against his chest, listening to the gentle thrum of his heartbeat as if it was a melody she desperately wanted to perfect, to play. he heard her sing, once, and he said her voice reminded him of the harp apollo probably carried through the skies with daybreak. 

she isn’t so certain.

she adjusts herself, makes sure the wires are in check, and waits for him to fall asleep. his soft breathing, his gentle snores, his fingers rubbing circles into her back… all the familiar things she realizes she will miss without him. because now, it is night, and these are the vicious thoughts that attack her. she thinks about his silence, and  _ yes  _ he still makes sounds in his sleep, but they aren’t sensical. she’s terrified of things that are nonsensical.

(her mother at the orphanage became that way after time. maki was there for a brief moment to kiss her head and speak to her before she was taken away to another task, another victim.)

she doesn’t think she could bear to witness that again.

even in sleep, he looks sacred. his lips look as though they could breathe life into the corpses of demigods, his closed eyes still holding the secrets of the universe tightly, carrying the intimacy of the titans to the gods,

though, kaito isn’t the one to damn the universe.

on that thought, maki thinks, damn everything. because even if kaito looks beautiful, she has heard that gods can fade away. she will never let kaito die as a presence-- she would write a novella dedicated to the luminary of the stars if that was his wish-- but nothing she could do could save him from death, and this thought plagues her

endlessly.

she watches him sleep silently, selfishly wishing his breaths could lull her to sleep, knowing realistically that she will stay awake. she is a guardian over his precious life, treating the slight mercy as though it can envelop them into a sanctuary.

and she wishes with all the favors she has left with the gods she hardly believes in,

that kaito will awaken.

**Author's Note:**

> blood // cosmos
> 
> my favorite prompt
> 
> um so i'm going to put this here. i... really got excited for kaimaki week!! i made a ton of promises and thought i'd have prompts for this and saimota week, which is coming up, written and done. i... don't. my inspiration ran dry and my mental health... well, admittedly, my mental health is never good, those who read my fics often can see that, but it's been really stressful lately with testing and stuff.
> 
> so i don't think i can finish kaimaki week
> 
> i'm sorry to my friends i was going to do it with. i just can't do the other fics justice which SUCKS because i had the titles written out and they were really good names but i really. just can't. i think i might try and do tomorrow's prompt at a later point and write a longer kaimaki fic soon. but yeah. i might try and do day seven? my mental health might take a switch but. probably not.
> 
> sorry for the long note i just feel really apologetic because i was SO hype for this and my friends were doing it with me (sorry lynne and sig) but i. kinda feel like i'll cry if i push myself? so... yeah. again, sorry for overreacting, i just feel really guilty.


End file.
